


I Believe It's A Specialized Form Of Buddies

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Fuckbuddies, M/M, Plot What Plot, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is too early in the morning to be awake and trying to make coffee, and very much too early to have to look at blindingly bright red serge, but when Fraser invokes the specialized-form-of-buddies clause, Ray's day starts looking a whole lot better in a hurry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe It's A Specialized Form Of Buddies

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**synecdochic**](http://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/), under the categories of [1, 21, 53, and 66](http://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/206414.html). ^_^ My muses are a little one-track these days, but Syne is the one who turned me on to Due South in the first place, so hopefully that works for everyone. :D
> 
> **Podfic!** I podficced this one; you can get it streaming or to download at [my podfic website](http://helensfic.net/podfic/2012/i-believe-its-a-specialized-form-of-buddies-by-helens78/) or [at Amplificathon](http://amplificathon.dreamwidth.org/1891432.html). :)

Tuesday morning, Ray's got a pot of coffee on, and he stands there with a bag of M&amp;Ms in hand, waiting, waiting. He's trying not to fall asleep standing up, trying damn hard, but he aches all over from that fall he and Fraser took into the truck full of cardboard boxes (better than that time they fell into the truck of tires, but not as good as the time they fell into the truck of old mattresses), and the coffee's not done yet, and it is too early, too damn early to be standing here trying to wake up.

There's a knock at the door, and Ray tries to come up with a "come on in, Fraser, you've got a key", but it ends up being a loud yawn. Fraser doesn't like to let himself in unless Ray's incapacitated or it's an emergency, though, so Ray shuffles over to the door and gets the deadbolt undone, and Diefenbaker nearly knocks him over as that red serge blinds him. It is too early in the morning for the full RCMP dress uniform; Ray wishes Fraser would let go his personal fetish for the red serge and wear the brown one once in a while. Especially when it's this early.

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser says. And of course he looks crisp and clean and fully-awake, and Ray bets caffeine had nothing to do with it--if anything, Fraser probably had _herbal_ tea this morning.

Ray just gives Fraser a wave and heads into the kitchen again, standing guard at the coffee machine, watching it drip-drip-drip, wondering why nobody's invented a faster form of coffee that doesn't taste like shit, maybe something that gets injected right into the veins. It's Frannie's fault, Frannie and her damn cappucino machine--Ray's not going to insist on froofy drinks or nothing, but it sure made his instant coffee made out of lukewarm water from the tap seem like drinking warm spit mixed with mud. Has to have a real coffee pot now, has to wait ten years until the damn thing's ready, has to have actual coffee around the kitchen, has to _not fall asleep_, dammit, it took an effort to get out of bed in the first place.

He can see that flash of red out of the corner of his eye--really, how can _anybody_ not see that from a mile away--and then Fraser's taking the M&amp;Ms out of his hand and taking Ray by the arms and turning him around and pushing him back against the counter, and Ray's still so out of it, he doesn't catch what's going on until Fraser says, "You look like you need--"

And that wakes Ray up just a little bit, because that's the way Fraser kicks stuff off: _I think you need_ or _You look like you need_ or--it's always about what _Ray_ needs, and today Ray won't argue. Okay, mostly he doesn't argue. The closest he ever came was asking _is this--we still buddies?_ and Fraser saying _I believe it's a specialized form of buddies; I think--_ and insert the eyebrow rub here-- _there's a particular term for it, in fact._

Leave it to Fraser to invoke the fuckbuddy clause without actually being able to _say_ he wants to be fuckbuddies. That's Fraser for you.

And this morning Fraser's doing another one of those oh-so-Fraser things, or at least it sure as hell looks like he's going there. He puts his hat down on the counter beside Ray (which Ray appreciates; the hat blocks the view and tends to bump into his stomach), he gets down on his knees--oh, man, look at that, sea of red with the high browns just visible behind him--and he reaches up to Ray's boxers and tugs lightly. They slip off Ray's hips and hit the floor, and Fraser takes a good deep breath, like Ray's morning funk and sweaty balls are the best thing he's gonna smell all day long.

It's crazy, but Fraser's always been crazy, and Ray sure as hell isn't going to argue _now_. Fraser likes to taste things, likes to put his mouth places where sane people do not go, and okay, Ray does this plenty, _this_ isn't so crazy, but oh man, _nobody_ loves head like Fraser loves head, nobody nobody, and now Ray's on the receiving end of it and okay, crazy or not, he's not complaining. No sir. No sirree _bob_.

There's just a split-second there while Fraser decides what he's gonna do first, and what he eventually does is take Ray's rapidly-hardening cock in hand and lift it out of the way so he can nuzzle at Ray's balls. Ray gets both hands up on the counter and clutches it tight, and he spreads his legs a little wider so Fraser can really lick in there. Which Fraser does--he takes full advantage of that access and runs his tongue up and down Ray's balls, one at a time, getting them good and wet and getting Ray moaning and tilting his head back. Balls are _great_, balls are _greatness_, in all the time Ray's been with other men, with women, he's never found anybody who'd happily spend hours sucking on his balls the way Fraser will, and he would have to be an idiot to hurry Fraser along to anything else.

Fraser's mouth is so warm, too, so warm that when he actually gets around to the sucking, when he's got Ray's balls in his mouth and he's humming out a tune--Ray hopes it's not "O Canada", but he probably wouldn't recognize it if it was--Ray feels like he might just melt in the Mountie's mouth, not in his hand, like the M&amp;Ms Fraser made him put down before he got started. He feels all good and relaxed, not liable to fall asleep anytime, but warm and content and--and okay, Fraser was right, he did need this, needed the attention and warmth today, and there's no shame in admitting to that, no shame to letting your best buddy/fuckbuddy take care of you in the particular way that he likes to do.

But eventually Fraser's done with Ray's balls, and he moves up, licking a nice wide stripe up the underside of Ray's cock, _oh oh oh_, greatness, so much greatness, and Ray swears he can see Fraser grinning ear-to-ear just before his mouth goes all wide and he starts--_fuck yeah, fuck yeah_\--swallowing Ray down, inch after solid inch of him.

Ray is not the longest guy on the block, not the longest guy in the room, even, but he is good and thick when he's hard, and Fraser's really got to stretch those lips to take him in. And man, seeing those lips thin out and feeling them tighten around him--seeing Fraser really _working_ to get more--Ray finally loses his cool and puts his hand on Fraser's shoulder, drags him forward, and Fraser moans around Ray's cock, like Ray trying to get more is the hottest thing ever.

Well, it's not. Can't be. Hottest thing ever has got to be Ray's buddy on his knees on Ray's kitchen floor, mouth stretched out, only an inch or two away from having Ray's entire cock down his throat, and the feel of slightly scratchy wool and just the slightest edge of leather from that funky half-suspender half-belt under Ray's fingertips. _Leather_, Ray thinks hazily, and he moves his hand, rubbing that belt (Ray knows, he knows, the _Sam Browne_, which Fraser once compared to a _cape_, the crazy bastard), rubbing it and feeling leather and thinking about what it'd be like if Fraser were into stuff like belts and cuffs and using those boots for more than just looking good with parachute pants.

Oh, but that crosses a line way past fuckbuddies, for sure. Ray is pretty positive the rules for fuckbuddies do not include bootplay or belts or breathplay, which, okay, he needs to not be thinking about while his cock is all the way down Fraser's throat, oh God, excess lung capacity, _Jesus_.

Fraser's really got him now, figured out how to quit with the gagging and make with the full-throttle cocksucking, and once he's got it down, he speeds it up, fucking his throat on Ray's cock like he wants this to be no-holds-barred pedal-to-the-metal throat-fucking. Right, because that thought's not gonna make Ray come in about _four seconds_. Holy shit.

Which is what Ray wants to say out loud: "Holy shit, Fraser"--but he can only grunt, and he goes back to gripping Fraser's shoulder, other hand coming up to cup the back of Fraser's head in his hand.

And the thing about Fraser that makes this so much greater than great is that it's not like he's doing Ray a favor every time. He's got his hands on Ray's hips now, yanking Ray forward as much as Ray's pulling Fraser in, breath coming hard through his nose, flush creeping up past his collar, and Ray would bet dollars to donuts that Fraser's harder than steel, harder than glass, harder than ice on the fucking frozen tundra under his trousers and his tunic. He's sucking Ray's cock like he's starved for it, like every single time he does this it's the highlight of his week.

And hell, Ray's not gonna be one to hold back on him--not now, when he's so close he can feel his whole body getting ready to ride that wave, even his _hair_'s standing on end gearing up for it, and--shit, _now_, he's gotta--has to warn Fraser, the uniform, Fraser will _flip out_ if Ray gets come on it again--

But he can't, throat still too tired to make real words, so he just has to hold Fraser's head in place and hope Fraser's okay with it, hope Fraser doesn't move, and--_yes yes yes yes yes_, God, his cock's jerking and Fraser's throat's working and he swallows, thank Christ, swallows and swallows and pushes his head down against Ray's cock so there ain't a chance in hell he's gonna lose so much as a _drop_.

_So fuckin' hot_, Ray thinks, and then totally ruins the moment with the biggest yawn in the whole damn world.

Fraser pulls away gently and carefully wipes across his lips with his thumb, sucking away anything left over afterward. He comes up off his knees, nice and smooth--kneeling's nothing to Fraser, whereas Ray's knees would snap-crackle-pop like nobody's business, particularly at this time of day.

Still thinking about the uniform, though, Ray bends down and hikes his boxers back up. No dripping on the Mountie, not after all that. Wouldn't be buddies. Not even fuckbuddies. Wouldn't be very polite, either, and Fraser, he gives extra credit bonus points for politeness, even from half-asleep Chicago cops with experimental hair. Maybe _especially_ from half-asleep Chicago cops with experimental hair.

Speaking of hair, Fraser's isn't even mussed, which is just as well. Ray yawns again, and Fraser smiles at him. When Ray reaches out, Fraser steps into his arms for a nice big (scratchy, dammit, and a little cold from all the leather) hug. Ray sighs a little. Okay, not a bad way to spend a morning at all.

"Ray?" Fraser murmurs, and when it shows no signs of getting Ray to let go, he does that thing where he repeats Ray's name over and over, same tone, like raising his voice would be rude and he knows Ray'll catch on eventually. "I believe your coffee's ready."

"You are an _angel_," Ray mumbles, and that opinion doesn't change when Fraser pours him a cup of coffee and drops seven M&amp;Ms into it. Fraser makes sure Ray has a firm grip on the coffee before letting go.

"I'm not an angel, Ray," Fraser says. And Ray can almost hear his tongue going firmly into his cheek when he says, "I'm a Mountie."

But now Ray's mouth is full of coffee and chocolate, so he just nods. Fraser can be an angel or a Mountie or Santa Claus for all Ray cares; the man gave him a blowjob and a cup of coffee afterwards. Ray is naturally disposed to be thinking some good thoughts.

"Okay," Ray says, first cup of coffee down. "You gimme ten minutes to shower and I'll be ready to jump out of all the windows you want today."

"Understood, Ray," Fraser says, and he picks up his hat and takes a seat next to Diefenbaker on the couch, while Ray heads to the shower with just a little bit of spring in his step. A day that starts out this good can't help but get even better as it goes along.

_-end-_


End file.
